the planets bend between us
by iyosan
Summary: he had made a thousand mistakes, was his punishment to witness a thousand deaths?


Harry Potter is meant to be the saviour of the wizarding world but there is a black haired body in the giant's arms _and Harry Potter is meant to be the saviour of the wizarding world._

The giant is sobbing; holding the body close, shielding it, protecting it, although he was too late. He was pretty sure that the entirety of the light side was on the verge of tears, even those who had never said a word to the so called 'Golden Boy.'

They were just scared because their 'saviour' had failed, he thought bitterly, they never cared what he liked or disliked or what his favourite colour was or how he felt when his eyes were downcast or when his hands were twitching in his lap. They only cared for the 'Boy Who Lived' _not_ 'Harry Potter.'

Potter's status had never changed how he had appeared to him. He was always that pratty Gryffindor that had his head too far up his arse, not to mention the git that denied his friendship. No matter what accomplishments Potter had achieved, he had never treated him differently.

Until, maybe around the time the war loomed over their heads. And he realised how much of a complete and utter fool he was to have fallen to his knees when he could have stood tall and fought.

But he hadn't and he had ended up in a predicament.

He is sure that his mother and father are calling out to him, hissing at him, angrily beckoning him over. He can hear the panicked voice of his father, yet, he cannot move. Not even when the piercing eyes of the dark lord fall on him.

For in the arms of the sobbing giant, is a black haired body. And that body is not moving even though he is willing the body to move, to twitch, to jolt, to do anything other than stay still. So terrifyingly still.

To Potter, Draco Malfoy must have been a nobody. Just a hindrance in his overwhelming life. Draco Malfoy had drunk in the moments he had tormented the green eyed boy, savoured the moments those eyes fell on him, relished the confrontations no matter how bitter and harsh they might have been.

Since, he had been a fool to do so much just to get the boy's attention. Just so that his eyes would settle on him and _recognise him._

It was instinct when his feet jolted from where he was standing and out of the light side and to the dark. It was his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It was his stomach that was slowing rising up his throat. It was his limbs, how they trembled. He couldn't bare it; he couldn't bare seeing that body being so still. Why was it so still -?

The dark lord parted his lips, they were twisting into a mocking smirk as he bellowed "Harry Potter… _is dead!"_

And he couldn't swallow the scream that tore from his throat. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

…

He awoke to darkness, wrapped in cold sheets that smelt of dust. In his chest, his heart cried out, wailing while he panted for breath, hands digging into the mattress he was lying on.

His eyes burned. What would happen now? Now that the entire worlds only hope was gone? Now that Harry Potter was dead, would anybody still have the courage to fight?

Did he really care what would come of the world now?

A knock sounds at the door "Draco?" The familiar voice of Blaise Zabini calls unsurely "You okay? Usually you're up before all of us…"

Draco pauses, slowly pushing himself up on his elbows "Blaise?" He called.

"You okay in there?" Blaise asks "You better be goddamn decent because I'm coming in." Draco does not respond, unable to form a coherent reply.

The door creaks open, and a head peaks around to the bed Draco was in, still in his pyjamas "You know it's getting late? Pansy is getting rather impatient with you, you know."

Draco inhales greedily, confused and bleary at how…casual Blaise's words are "Blaise…what happened to Potter?" He choked out, voice hoarse and throat burning painfully.

Blaise sends him a bewildered look "Why'd you want to know about him? Golden boy's not here, remember?"

His mind is running wild, he almost feels lightheaded. Perhaps he is dreaming. He might have fallen out of his bed and hit his head, and this was a peculiar dream that he would wake up from. A false awakening.

"Blaise," Draco begins unsteadily "What is the date?" He is getting himself worked up, he frowns, biting his lip, he will be disappointed… What could he possibly be trying to prove to himself?

"Um, did you hit your head or something?" Blaise asks "You're acting kind of weird…"

"The date?" Draco says impatiently.

"…It's May 1st;" He tells the silver haired boy "You look kind of pale, do you need to go to Madame Pomfrey?"

Draco swallows thickly. Is he to relive the moment he saw Harry Potter's corpse in the arms of the giant? Is he to relive listening to chortling laughter that surrounded him? Is he to relive staring back at the accusing, burning eyes of the light side aimed right at him?

He opens his mouth; he wants to tell Blaise that something is wrong, that something is really, really wrong, but after a moment of silence of him just sitting there, sweating and with his mouth open, he closes it.

"Leave," He mutters "Please, leave."

"Draco -"

"Please, _please_ , just leave."

…

The fire begins faster this time, and Crabbe is swept into the wave of flames before anybody could reach out and drag him away and Draco finds himself frozen. Once again, he found himself having to bid farewell to a loyal friend.

He doesn't have much chance at escaping the fire, he had made this mistake before, and yet he had not learnt from his ridiculous mistake and it cost Vincent Crabbe his life, and for that, Draco Malfoy laments.

But he hasn't much time, his skin is already burning from the incredible heat, the pale flesh on his bony hands is turning a raw pink shade, and Draco runs as fast as his legs can manage. He doesn't want to die, no, he wants to live. But what kind of life can a death eater form if they survive this war? What kind of life can he create that wouldn't be built of lies?

And then Harry goddamn Potter is shooting across the flames, above and then down, hand reaching for him with determination in those endless eyes. Harry Potter would save his skin even after everything he had done to him, and Draco Malfoy would have Harry Potter to thank.

He didn't know if he could deal with that.

Because it's all due to his hero complex. He's only saving him because everybody expects him to be the hero – he obviously doesn't really want to save him. But he _wants_ Potter to save him.

But, he is too late grabbing Potter's hand, because as he is yanked on to the broom, Potter loses his balance – because even after years of Quidditch the goddamn golden boy still can't hold himself upright on a fucking broom - and all Draco can do as he zooms towards the door, steering haphazardly, towards the clean air and safety, is watch with wide, bloodshot eyes as Potter falls into the flames.

And he yells "-HARRY-!"

But it is too late, and his and Potter's yells are lost in the burst of heat that envelopes the entire room, blinding and horrifying, listening to Harry Potter's scream of pain over and over and over.

…

When he awakes, it is to darkness and he is wrapped in cold sheets that smelt of dust. It is a familiar scenario that sets alarms ringing off in his head.

He sits up wearily, rubbing the moisture from his eyes, and forces the voices from his head, but it is inevitable. All he can hear is the horrified scream of Potter as he falls into the fire. All his fault.

" _MALFOY-!"_

A knock sounds at the door, and Draco's heart thumps painfully in his chest "Draco You okay? Usually you're up before all of us…" Draco is breathing heavily, hands clutching his head.

He parts his lips "I-I'll be out in a moment…" He replies shakily, and stands from his bed.

It was happening again. All over again.

" _MALFOY-!"_

" _MALFOY-!"_

" _MALFOY-!"_

…

It felt like everything was in slow motion. He remembers this day far too well. He knows that that person was going to get hit with the Crucio curse, and he sends an quick 'expelliarmus' his way. He knows that that Death Eater would hit the wall behind him with 'Confrigo' so he dodges it but a poor scrawny student hadn't managed to.

He remembers the movements, and the actions and he remembers the fear that pumped through his veins. He remembers the wide, afraid eyes of those around him and the malicious, hungry, bloodthirsty eyes of the Death Eaters.

Draco doesn't know where Blaise or Goyle or Pansy is, he hopes they're safe in the dungeons, protected from the hell that found its way to the surface. Separated from this chaos by stone walls but he doubts they are. They're most likely fighting this war and they're probably fighting it right.

Because his friends, his companions didn't want the dark lord to succeed. They had never bowed down to the creature that no longer could be called a human. The soulless creature – how had he ever managed to bow down to such a creature?

"We believe in blood purity," Blaise had told him "Not… _this_."

And Draco had understood. His friends were _not_ cowards. If anything, they were far braver than him. At the snap of his parent's fingers he bowed down to something he would never would at his own accord. He wanted to please, he wanted recognition but now he realises that yes, he wanted recognition, but…for this? For being a Death Eater? What kind of sick achievement was that to a boy?

What kind of sick achievement was it to bring this upon the innocent? Why spill innocent blood?

With nausea deep in the pits of his stomach, Draco runs through the debris of what was once a corridor, wand clasped tightly in his clammy hand, eyes shooting everywhere, for something that could attack him, or damage him, he was ready-

"CONFRIGO!" A voice from the right bellows, echoing throughout the corridor. Something crashes to the floor, causing the dust that had settled to form a cloud and bring moisture to Draco's eyes.

What followed that crash was a choked scream that is such a familiar voice it sends shivers down his spine. How agonised the scream was sends twists to form in his stomach.

He jolts forwards, running, legs aching and hand cramping up until he stumbles upon a scene he wished he could have prevented. With panting breaths, he lunges forwards towards the collapsed wall, where the front half of Harry Potter is lying, wand metres away, and head resting on the ground.

 _No no no no no no no -_

"P-Potter," He chokes out, kneeling down beside the black haired boy. His eyelids flicker before opening, impossible green eyes gazing up.

"…Malfoy?" He almost wants to apologise for being the last face he has to see before he…He would much prefer a face of a friend, such as Granger, or Weasel…Not a Malfoy "W-What…are you?"

He puts a finger to his lips "Save your breath, Potter…" He murmurs "Y…You can let go," Potter shakes his head, and Draco can see the pain in his eyes, the sweat covering his unusually pale flesh shows how he is trying to hold on. But trying is never enough.

"…Can't," Potter bites out.

Malfoy smiles bitterly, humourlessly "…Because you're the boy who lived?" He bites out "…Your stupid status can go fuck itself…l-let go as a _normal_ boy, Harry…"

Potter looks bewildered. Potter looks confused. Potter is dying. His lower body is basically crushed and there is no way at saving such a horrific injury. All Draco can do is pray that when he lets go, he isn't in too much pain (although, that is inevitable.)

"…Really hurts." Potter hisses out "…Could you…take my glasses off?"

Draco nods, and leans forwards, gentle taking the cracked, dirty glasses away from his eyes, so that he can rest his head on the ground, eyes still meeting with Draco's.

"…I was a prat, Potter." Draco mutters to him, heart aching desperately at the small, crooked smile that curves on Potter's lips.

He mouths: _'I know.'_

His gaze becomes glassy and the impossible green eyes are animated and gone. Draco feels the tears in his eyes but they do not fall. He won't let them.

So all he can do is stare into the empty, bottomless eyes of Harry Fucking Potter.

…

"You know it's getting late? Pansy is getting rather impatient with you, you know." Blaise calls from behind the door. Draco dry heaves into his pillow, feeling tears leak from his closed eyes and into the fabric.

He must be cursed.

"… _Could you…take my glasses off?"_

Definitely cursed.

…

He is leaning against the wall, hiding in a little area of three doors, crouched in the corner with his wand at the ready. Spells already on his tongue.

Footsteps echo from the great hall where the injured or dead are. He knows that Fred Weasley is dead, and that the entire of the Weasley family are devastated. Draco cannot help but feel guilt hang over his shoulders, tied by a weak string; he had been quite the comedian, and even Draco had snickered to himself at the red head twins antics.

He didn't want to know how George Weasley was taking it. The string holding the guilt might snap.

Shaking overtook his body; he was afraid, so, so afraid. His mind still echoed with the dark lords voices, quiet, menacing, as per usual. But it was not the voice that pierced his mind that made his heart freeze. He was going to kill Potter. And Draco would have to live, watching him die over and over.

"Malfoy?"

He didn't want Potter to die.

He never did.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

He lifted his head, feeling it throb from a spell that managed to hit him – he hit the wall harder than he thought, and that sodding prick actually got away with it without him throwing a spell back.

"Potter," He replied "…Where are you going?"

Potter rolled his eyes, spite decorated his filthy face "You know where I'm going, Malfoy. You of all people should know that."

"You'll die." He said, standing up shakily.

"I know." Potter replied snappily "I have to."

"You don't." He insisted.

"You wouldn't understand, Malfoy. You don't understand a thing about sacrifice." Potter spat. Potter was wrong, Draco thought, he might sound bad saying that he knew a lot about sacrifice, but he still had dealt with his own.

He lost his childhood and his future to the dark lord. He lost his…innocence to the dark mark. He lost the trust of hundreds due to the side he stood on.

He knew of sacrifice, but not the sacrifice Harry Potter spoke of. Not a sacrifice that saves, but a sacrifice that _steals._ That wrongs rights.

Draco Malfoy had always wondered why Potter made all of the sacrifices he did. He had come to the conclusion that the fate of the wizarding world hung heavy on his shoulders. He felt like he had to, because he was the boy who lived, he was suddenly the hero that would save everyone from the dark lords grasp. That he only made all of those sacrifices because of expectation.

"Potter," He says to the retreating figure.

"Malfoy, I haven't got time for you -"

"I once overheard you speaking of a writer," He began, not able to look the boy in the eye "Called Shakespeare." Potter opened his mouth to bite out a reply, but Draco interrupted him "And I found something that intrigued me. He once said 'Expectation is the root of all heartache.' I just want to know; doesn't that sound familiar to you by any chance?"

Potter bit his lip, eyes narrowed and unsure. He could almost see the gears working in his head "…I never thought you of all people would know a muggle author." Harry sighs.

"Not everything is as it seems, Potter." He replies.

And Potter walks away, an arms width away. Draco could grab him now and keep him safe, keep him from the wrath of the dark lord and _save_ him. But he doesn't. He watches as Potter becomes smaller and smaller until he is no longer there. And even then, Draco is watching the end of the corridor.

Until white washes over his eyesight and knows that Harry Potter is dead.

…

Antonin Dolohov's curse

Poisoned by Nagini

Crucio

Avada Kedavra

Crushed – again (you'd think that after so many years of Quidditch he would be able to avoid a giant wall)

Falling.

And every single time, Draco is watching, he is watching with tears in his eyes and a scream on his lips.

Screaming, always screaming.

…

The quickest deaths are the easiest ones; Potter doesn't have to suffer for long, and if Potter is suffering, Draco will do all he can to lessen or stop it. The slow deaths are torturous. When Draco finds Harry after countless Crucio attacks, he is twitching, unable to stop his eyes from moving; his brain is clearly not working anymore.

Draco sits beside him, and places a cold hand on his scarred, clammy forehead. Potter leans into the touch.

His eyes beg for something Draco does not want to give, but he does anyway.

The quickest deaths are the easiest.

But he still has trouble dealing with them.

…

Potter holds many emotions. He is quite hormonal.

Sometimes he is angry and spiteful; but Draco can hardly blame him after the years of torment Draco put him through. Though the words that Potter say send icy chills through his veins and to his heart.

Sometimes he is calm, and understanding. This is a confusing one.

Sometimes, he is secretive. Holding a dear secret from the silver haired boy. This one is quite humorous because it proves Potter's lack of eloquence. He is a symphony of 'um's' and 'ah's.'

…

"Malfoy!" It is Potter, who confronts him this time, and it catches Draco off guard, seeing the black haired, green eyed boy panting, face dirty and glasses scratched, standing before him "I-I need to tell you something-!"

Draco's breath hitches in his throat "…What is it?"

"I lik -" Potter's eyes widen, and he keels forwards. Draco is there before he can hit the ground, cradling the body in his arms, eyes closed to cage the tears inside.

…

Maybe this is how he will spend the rest of his life.

In a time loop of witnessing Harry Potter's deaths. Always his. Over and over and over.

\- _And over and over and over._

…

There are times when he doesn't see Potter's body, lying like a broken doll on the ground, and he is just wandering through Hogwarts or duelling when his world goes white.

It makes him feel oddly guilty that he wasn't there.

…

He sends a hex towards Antonin Dolohov, who was aiming his wand at Potter. It sends him off his feet and to the ground. He wasn't expecting it when Potter glared at him.

"I don't need _your_ help, Malfoy." He spat.

Draco swallows "Okay."

He feels Potters eyes on him as we walks away.

 _Don't pay attention to me_ , he begs, _look around you –_

He hears a startled cry, and a loud thump, and white frays at the edges of his reality. He feels tears leak out of the corners of his eyes.

…

"Pansy is getting really impatient -"

Draco turns over in his bed, digging his head into the pillow so that the sobs that wrack his body are muffled and that Blaise cannot hear them.

…

Harry Potter is meant to be the saviour of the wizarding world but there is a black haired body in the giant's arms and _Harry Potter is meant to be the saviour of the wizarding world._

The giant is sobbing; holding the body close, shielding it, protecting it, although he was too late. He was pretty sure that the entirety of the light side was on the verge of tears, even those who had never said a word to the so called 'Golden Boy.'

They were just scared because their 'saviour' had failed, he thought bitterly, they never cared what he liked or disliked or what his favourite colour was or how he felt when his eyes were downcast or when his hands were twitching in his lap. They only cared for the 'Boy Who Lived' not 'Harry Potter.'

Potter's status had never changed how he had appeared to him. He was always that pratty Gryffindor that had his head too far up his arse, not to mention the git that denied his friendship. No matter what accomplishments Potter had achieved, he had never treated him differently.

Until, maybe around the time the war loomed over their heads. And he realised how much of a complete and utter fool he was to have fallen to his knees when he could have stood tall and fought.

But he hadn't and he had ended up in a predicament.

He is sure that his mother and father are calling out to him, hissing at him, angrily beckoning him over. He can hear the panicked voice of his father, yet, he cannot move. Not even when the piercing eyes of the dark lord fall on him.

For in the arms of the sobbing giant, is a black haired body. And that body is not moving even though he is willing the body to move, to twitch, to jolt, to do anything other than stay still. So terrifyingly still.

To Potter, Draco Malfoy must have been nobody. Just a hindrance in his overwhelming life. Draco Malfoy had drunk in the moments he had tormented the green eyed boy, savoured the moments those eyes fell on him, relished the confrontations no matter how bitter and harsh they might have been.

Since, he had been a fool to do so much just to get the boy's attention. Just so that his eyes would settle on him and _recognise_ him.

He doesn't move from where he is standing. He sees the anger on his father's face and the disappointment on his mothers. He can see the fury of the dark lord, but he still doesn't move.

He doesn't want to be on the wrong side anymore.

The dark lord parted his lips, and he bellowed "Harry potter… _is dead!"_

His eyes widen, _please merlin not again_ –

And the body lurches from the giant's arms, wand ready and Confrigo on his lips. The crowds disperse, the light side laughing in relief and the dark side horrified that the dark lord had failed. So many were already fleeing.

His eyes widen from shock. He…was aliv-

…

He awoke to light, goddamn blinding light –

That's strange.

"…Malfoy?" A voice asks quietly, and Draco's heart stops "…Are you waking up?"

He wants to say no, but nods weakly.

He cracks an eye open, and is met with the blurry image of the dark haired golden boy, healed cuts littering his face, new scars on his skin. He was scarred, but he was _alive._

Draco felt like hugging him, he felt his heart race at those impossible green eyes, Potter is even smiling at him – that chuffed crooked smile.

"…W-Why…?" He manages to croak "…Potter?"

Potter smiles sheepishly "You're probably wondering why I'm here?" Draco nods, and wonders where 'here' is, but he doesn't want to risk looking away from Potter's face "Everyone was really confused when you didn't change sides." He spoke softly "It made us wonder."

Draco could feel his eyes fill with moisture. He desperately wanted to cry.

"But I'll tell you about that later," Potter nods "When you're properly awake, of course," His lips curve into a devious smirk "I have a secret to tell you."

"…What is it, Potter?" Draco asks hoarsely, curiosity burning in his head.

Potter puts a finger to his lips "I'll tell you later," He says "And by the way, it's Harry. Now sleep, you were actually quite injured when we found you."

Draco allows Pot- _Harry_ to pull the duvet over him and rests his head back, and closes his eyes. He finds that he is actually extremely tired, even though there is exhilaration running through his veins, along with curiosity.

But, that would have to wait, because there was a bundle of Harry Potter leaning on the side of his bed, already asleep, dark hair spilling over the top of his glasses – which were crooked on the bridge of his nose.

 _He never did tell Harry, did he?_

Draco decides he can wait till later for Harry's secret, as long as he can share his one.


End file.
